And I'm O.K.
by Jennlee.2
Summary: Jarod takes on a pretend to investigate a death in the logging industry. Updated 8/7 - Chapter 4 is up - Please Review
1. Default Chapter

Jarod dressed in jeans so worn they felt soft. Next, he put on a white t-shirt. Over that he pulled on a flannel shirt in a blue plaid. Jarod decided he quite liked flannel. It was such a comfortable fabric. There was something about it's warm fuzziness that contrasted so intensely with his youth in the hard, sterile environment of The Centre.

Jarod slipped on stout leather boots with steel toes, lacing them up tightly. Finally, a baseball cap - a farm implement logo one and a final look in the mirror. _Ready for work_, he thought, picking up a steel lunch pail and a small, red notebook.

The office trailer was easy to find. Jarod knocked at the door and entered. At a desk sat a woman, young and blonde, dressed in tight, revealing clothing. She looked up at him with an almost eager expression and smiled.

"I'm here to see Mr. Jenkins." Jarod told her.

The woman batted her eyelashes in a coy manner. Jarod smiled inwardly at the obviousness of it. She nodded toward a door and said, "Go on in. He's in a bad mood, though. Don't say I didn't warn you. I'm Mel by the way - that's short for Melissa." She held out her perfectly manicured hand.

"Hello, Mel. I'm Jarod." He smiled and shook her hand, looking curiously at her long blood-red fingernails. His attention was immediately diverted by a door opening. A chubby, balding man stepped through the doorway. His face was flushed and he looked aggravated. The man was dressed in a short-sleeved white striped shirt and a blue tie beset with what appeared to be gravy stains.

"Mel, I need the paperwork from the Forestry department. The notices to comply. And the forms for the new year. I have to get everything together by the end of the day."

As Mel rummaged through her files, Jarod stepped forward. "Mr. Jenkins? I'm Jarod Dougherty. Mr. Williams sent me over. Said you need a new choke setter." He held out his hand.

Mr. Jenkins sniffed at him and took the hand after a moment's hesitation. "So you're his wonder-boy, eh? He told me I'd be a fool not to take you on. God knows I do need a choke setter…" His face paled a bit.

"I know sir. I heard about Billy Matthews. Terrible thing. Have they figured out what happened yet?"

Huffing into his hand, the man said, "Nothing official yet. The police are still investigating. But I know who did it. It was those damned Monkey Wrenchers. That Damon Markham is at the root of this, you mark my words. Always sneaking in here and sabotaging our equipment. The cops will get him, though."

Agreeing to take Jarod on as a choke setter to replace Billy Matthews, Mr. Jenkins asked Jarod to wait outside while he contacted the crew leader and got the paperwork started. Jarod sat on a tree stump next to the trailer and waited to begin his new job. Pulling the red notebook from his pocket he opened it. The first page contained a newspaper clipping. The headline screamed, "LOCAL MAN KILLED IN LOGGING ACCIDENT." Jarod reread the first paragraph.

__

"Billy Matthews, a native of Timber Creek Falls, was killed yesterday in a machinery accident at the logging camp off of route 21. A choke setter for ABC logging company, Matthews was found dead by fellow workers. To date there are no witnesses to the accident, and the coroner has not released his findings, but a police source has indicated that Matthews was likely killed by a severe blow to the head. Equipment failure may have been a factor."

Jarod turned the page of his notebook. This page also contained a newspaper clipping. This article had a photo of Matthews - a young and handsome man with a square jaw and wide set eyes. "MONKEY WRENCHERS SUSPECTED IN DEATH" the article headline indicated. Moving on to the first paragraph, Jarod read, _"Police have confirmed that local logger Billy Matthews, age 32, was killed by a blow to the head when a choker sling failed. Police are questioning local anti-logging groups for suspected Monkey Wrenching. Monkey Wrenching is the term given to environmentalist groups who prevent logging through the sabotage of equipment. Past sabotage at ABC logging company has led police to question the head of Forests United."_

Another page was turned and Jarod was looking at Matthews' obituary. The same photo adorned this tribute to the life of the young man. Jarod recalled that Matthews was survived by a sister and nephew, both living in the area. The young logger was from Timber Creek Falls, had lived in the area all his life, and had worked for ABC logging company since graduation from the local high school.

The next page of the notebook contained a folded paper. Jarod removed it from the book and opened it. The top of the paper proclaimed, _"Forests United - Save a Tree, Save the World."_ An emblem of a stop sign in front of a forest emblazoned on the top left corner. A newsletter for the group, Forests United, it was a single double sided page. The date on top of the newsletter was six months ago. Jarod's eyes focused on one article on the back side. Entitled _"Wrenching for the World"_ it described ways to sabotage logging equipment. It described such tactics as sugar in gas tanks and inserting metal spikes in trees.

Jarod hurriedly slid the paper back into the notebook as Mr. Jenkins came out of the trailer. The pudgy man had a white hard hat on and held a blue one in his hand. Handing the blue hat to Jarod, he said, "So, everything's underway. I'm going to take you out to your work crew now." Jarod put the hat on and followed Jenkins to a jeep. As they drove up the logging road, Jarod looked around him at the barren hillsides.

They pulled to a stop and Jarod could hear the loud buzz of saws and roar of tractor engines. He followed Jenkins who led him to a tall man in a white hard hat who was talking into a radio. The man lowered the radio and looked Jarod up and down. 

"Charlie, here's your new choke setter." Jenkins said.

"He any good?" the tall man asked, removing sunglasses to reveal brilliant green eyes.

"So Williams says, anyway. Give him a try. Its not like he can be any be less experienced than what you have now." 

Jarod smiled inwardly at this. He'd read a number of books on logging and the logging industry and he'd put himself inside the head of a logger, but he'd never actually done the job he was about to do. This sort of thing wasn't new to him, though, because Jarod was a Pretender. He could be anything. Be anyone. He was a chameleon - and an extremely skilled one at that. Trained from childhood, his natural talent was honed and exploited by an ominous group of private interests called The Centre. For years Jarod was a prisoner, working for them, using his skills on their dirty little projects. 

As a captive child, he had no other choice. It was all he'd known since childhood. As an adult, Jarod was finally able to escape his captors. Once free he devoted his life to writing wrongs, in his own way striving to make amends for the evils that he had inadvertently participated in at The Centre. 

Since his escape from The Centre, Jarod had been a doctor, a surgeon, a police officer, an FBI agent, a gigolo, and countless others in his quest for justice. Constantly looking over his shoulder, being pursued by his former keepers at The Centre, Jarod managed to find the justice he was seeking. It was justice not for himself, but for others. Jarod solved mysteries. He punished the guilty. He found retribution for those innocents who had been harmed by others.

While helping others was Jarod's primary goal, he also investigated his own life, recalling his bleak childhood at The Centre. Most of all, he looked for his parents, from whom he'd been stolen so many years ago. Jarod was finally able to ask the questions he had been unable to ask as a child. He sought the truth hard and with everything he had. There were times when he even found a little retribution.

Jarod looked at Charlie, his new boss. He stuck out his hand. "Hi. I'm Jarod."

Looking at him a little strangely, Charlie took his hand. "Charlie. Charlie McPherson. Do you know the drill?

"Drill? I didn't know there was a drill involved. Saws, tractors, hoists and trucks I remember, but I don't remember anything about drills." Jarod delivered this in his normal, deadpan style, but he was momentarily confused. He didn't recall anything about drills in his research for this new pretend. He wondered if his experience as a dentist in San Diego would be of any help to him.

"I see you found us a comedian," Charlie said to Jenkins, rolling his eyes. He turned back to Jarod. "I'll give you a chance. Show me what you got and if you can do this job then it's yours."

Minutes later, Jarod was performing his new job with a skill and dexterity that most men didn't achieve for years. As a choke setter, Jarod's job began after the fellers and the buckers had finished their work. First the fellers sawed down trees using large hand-held chainsaws. They notched the trunks to direct the trees, driving in wedges to ensure they would tumble in the expected direction. Once the fellers sawed out the back side of the trunk, the huge trees would lean slowly for a moment and then tumble with a harsh crash to the forest floor. An experienced feller could often judge a tree's fall within a few feet. 

Once the fellers had done their job, the bucker moved in. Buckers used smaller chainsaws to turn trees into logs, cutting off the tops and branches, and making piles of slash which was also called buck. The buckers judged how to get the most usable wood and made their cuts accordingly. 

Finally it was the turn of the choke setter. The steel cable called a choke looped around cut logs so they could be skidded out of the cutting area. Working with this equipment was Jarod's job. He scrambled through the maze of felled trees and buck, holding tight to the end of the wire rope sling. The sling was made from twisted wire cable and was coated with plastic. Once at the log or logs that were to be hoisted, Jarod opened the sling and worked it around the massive trunks. He judged how many logs could safely be skidded at one time and how many could be looped together. Next, Jarod attached the male end, the nubbin, to the female end of the wire sling. This made a loop, also called a choke, around the trunks he had chosen.

Once the trunks were securely choked, Jarod would signal the tractor operator. This man used his machine to drag the logs out of the cut area. This was called skidding. When logs were moving in the cut field, it was the most dangerous time to be a logger. Jarod thought about it, his memories of being a physicist at Cal Tech last year bringing to mind the various forces involved. _The mass of the trees contains a tremendous amount of energy_, he thought. Once skidding, this energy was harnessed and controlled only by a thin wire line. Should that line snap, enormous energy would be released and the logs would crash and fall, unstoppable and uncontrolled, smashing through anything until they came to rest_. _

There were other dangers as well, Jarod knew. Logs skidding through the cutting field had effects on other logs and piles of buck. Chain reactions cause movement in the cutting field far from the trees being skidded. When trees are on the move, every logger should be alert, he knew, memorizing an escape path from their position just in case.

Everything about logging was dangerous. But with care, skill, and safety measures, most crews operated safely and bad accidents were relatively rare.

As Jarod was setting the choke around three smaller logs, a whistle blew. He looked up and the tractor operator was climbing out of the cab of his machine. It must be lunch time, Jarod thought, looking at the sun, which was high in the sky on this sunny, June day. He removed his hard hat, wiped his brow on his sleeve, retrieved his lunch pail, and followed the machine operator. He found his crew gathered, sitting on stumps, lunch pails open, eating hungrily. Charlie McPherson waved him over.

"Hey guys, this is Jarod. You've been working with him all morning. He's the new choke setter."

"Hi," Jarod said, smiling.

Most of the crew appeared friendly, with the exception of one young man. Charlie introduced the men. "This is Jack Powell. And his brother Ted. They're the fellers on this crew." 

Jarod noticed Jack was smiling but Ted was glowering at him. Charlie continued, "This is Gordon Brown - he likes to be called Gordy - he's our equipment operator." Gordy nodded at Jarod. He was a big man with a barrel chest. Older than the others, he had a wise and knowing look about him.

"Finally, we've got Jason, our bucker."

Jason jumped up, took Jarod's hand and shook it enthusiastically. "Everybody calls me Buck." He was quite young, Jarod noticed, probably around twenty five. His hair was sandy blonde and he was wearing earrings and a beaded necklace. While look seemed incongruous with his rough occupation, Jarod felt a wiry strength behind his grip.

"Hello, Buck, nice to meet you."

Jarod sat down on a stump and opened his lunch pail. The men were eating and talking. They seemed a bit wary of the outsider. Jarod ate his lunch and listened. Listening was a skill that he excelled at. His brain was endlessly gathering information. He learned that Gordy was a widower who lived alone and had come down to Timber Creek Falls from British Columbia a few years ago. Buck was interested in music and parties - typical of his age. Jarod could tell the older men tolerated him but weren't approving.

Jack was a feller, although he had once been a bucker. He'd trained Jason when he started a few months ago. Jack's brother, Ted, had recently joined his brother's crew after working with a different crew for a number of years. Jarod learned that it was Ted who had been working Matthews' job as choke setter. Jarod thought he understood the young man's hostility toward him - he had taken his job. _Well_, he thought, _it won't be for long_. Jarod's pretends never lasted very long. He had to keep on the move to hide from The Centre.

After lunch, the men went back to work. Jarod took a few moments to talk to Gordy as the sound of chainsaws started up. He brought the casual conversation around to the Billy Matthews. "I heard about the accident."

"Terrible thing," Gordy said. "I'll never forget it for the rest of my days. I was the operating the tractor. I don't know what happened. One minute I saw Billy give the signal to hoist, the next minute all hell had broken lose. The choke must have broken. The wire line went slack. The logs went skidding and rolling back down the slope. I never saw Billy get hit. I never saw him go down. Even though it wasn't my fault, I still feel guilty. It was my choke that killed him."

"What happened afterward?" Jarod asked.

Gordy told Jarod that he had jumped from his machine and raced down the slope, plowing through piles of buck and logs. He'd been the one to find Billy, knowing in a moment that there was no hope as he saw blood and brain matter spattered across a wide area.

"Then I radioed Charlie and he came and called in the police and the coroner. Its such a shame. Billy was a truly nice guy. I can hardly believe how it all happened." Gordy wiped his brow with a red handkerchief. A radio call came in. Gordy answered it. It was McPherson wondering why they hadn't been working. "Just fine tuning our communication signals, Charlie. We'll be back to it in a minute," Gordy replied, rolling his eyes at Jarod.

Gordy lowered the radio. "Charlie's an OK guy but he's very driven. Always pushing. Always pressing. That's his job, I suppose, as crew boss, but this is a good crew. We don't need a heavy hand."

Jarod looked across the cutting field and saw McPherson observing the crew through field glasses. _This would be a man who might have some answers_, he thought. _He's in a position to know about everyone and everything that goes on in this crew._

After work, Gordy invited Jarod along to the local watering hole. It turned out to be a grungy, dimly lit bar a couple miles down the highway. Upon entering, Jarod could tell the clientele consisted mainly of people in the logging industry. Jarod saw laborers and machine operators like him and his crew. He saw the truckers who hauled the logs. There was a lot of flannel in this room, Jarod thought. Rough men, strong from hard labor, sat in the bar, drinking draft beer and shots of whiskey. There were no martinis in this crowd. No margaritas or daiquiris either. Even a highball would be out of place in this sea of weathered faces.

As Jarod picked up a draft beer from the bartender, he noticed Jack and Ted at a table near the jukebox. He asked if he could join them. Jack nodded in the affirmative while Ted merely scowled. Jarod sat down. "Jack. Ted." He nodded at the two brothers. "Good to see you." Jack nodded back and Ted looked hostile.

With a sudden inspiration, Jarod turned to Ted, "Ted, I wanted to ask you something. I need some advice and I understand you've been a choke setter. When you're attaching the sling do you put the nubbin side on the top or the bottom? Which works better?"

Ted looked surprised, "Well, the female part of the sling puts constant pressure on the bell so its better if you put the nubbin on the top. Causes less fatigue in the wire lays. Its quicker too."

"Great, thanks. Sometime I'd love to hear your tips on checking the lays for fatigue and damage. Got to keep safe out there."

Jack nodded approvingly. "You said it, Jarod. After what happened with Billy. Damned tree huggers!" 

Ted slammed his fist down on the table. "Bastards!"

"I heard something about it. Everyone says he was such a great guy. Its hard to believe something like that could happen. Do you really think it was the environmentalists?" Jarod pumped them for information.

"It was those damn tree huggers, that's for sure. They been targeting our operation for over a year. We've had to take on more security, lock down all the equipment, x-ray all the logs before they go to the mill… He and his people are causing plenty of trouble for us." Jack's rage was evident on his face. 

Jarod listened intently as the brothers ranted about Forest United, and environmentalists in general. Jarod was sympathetic to environmental causes, but if Markham or any of his people were responsible for the death of the young choke setter, he would see to it that they paid. 

There were many sides to the logging issue, and Jarod felt empathy for them all. He felt for the loggers whose livelihood depended on the logging industry and who maintained that they planted more forest than they cut. He felt for the environmentalists who believed the benefits of old growth forests outweighed the need for consumer wood products. His business at this moment was not to support one view or the other. His business was to find out who was responsible for a young man's death.


	2. Chapter 2

Mrs. Fielding was an older woman whose home had been converted into a boarding house. Hosting logging workers for many years, she looked over her boarders with a motherly eye. Dinner was served promptly at 7:30 and Jarod ate heartily at the landlady's well stocked table, hungry after his first day of work as a logger. He chatted with Mrs. Fielding as she bustled back and forth to the kitchen. 

Jarod met the other boarders, including a feller and a bucker from another crew over at ABC. Jovially, Brian and Eric filled Jarod in on the gossip of the company. A trucker, Phil, showed Jarod pictures of his two daughters who lived with his wife down in Arizona. It turned out that Brian and Eric had worked with Ted up until a year ago, but they were chary of speaking about a fellow logger with a stranger. Jarod made a mental note to gain the confidence of the two men. They could have helpful information.

After dinner, Jarod visited Mrs. Fielding in her small parlor. The large living room in the house was set aside for the boarders, who watched TV mostly and played checkers occasionally. Mrs. Fielding had her own private parlor where she did needlepoint while watching television. Seeing Jarod at the door, she signaled him to come in.

"How are you, Jarod? Are you settling in OK? Do you know, you remind me of my dear, departed husband, Phillip. You have that same look and I can see that same twinkle in your eye." She smiled at him.

"Why, thank you, Mrs. Fielding. I'm settling in just fine. I wanted to thank you for the excellent meal this evening. I've never had, what did you call it again?"

"Meatloaf?"

Jarod smiled. "Yes. Meatloaf. It was very good."

"Thank you." The matronly woman blushed. "You speak very educated for a logger, Mr. Dougherty. I like that. My Phillip was a well-spoken man. It's a trait he much admired, as do I. You're welcome to sit with me and watch the television a while."

"Call me Jarod." He sat on a doily-covered sofa, old but in good condition. It was a strange fabric, he noticed, and was slippery. Could it be made of horse hair? Jarod examined the sofa for a few moments and then looked around him. A large photo graced the top of the television set, an older, smiling man on it. "Is that Phillip?" he asked.

"That's him. Poor man. Struck down in the prime of life." Mrs. Fielding said.

"What happened?"

"Heart attack. Ten years ago. Completely unexpected. He worked for the logging company. He wasn't a logger, mind you, he was an accountant. He did the books, handled a lot of the paperwork, filed the taxes, that kind of thing. Worked for ABC until he passed away."

"I'm sorry." 

Mrs. Fielding nodded, her lips tightening and her eyes sad.

Jarod turned his attention to the television. "What is this?" he asked as much to change the subject as out of curiosity in the program. On the somewhat fuzzy screen, Men with strange accents were dressed as women. 

"Haven't you ever seen Monty Python? It's British." She looked from the television to Jarod. He cocked his head, looking closely at the television screen as the 'ladies' were suddenly attacking each other, slinging purses and kicking. His eyes widened as he took in the melee. Mrs. Fielding was chuckling.

"Phillip loved the British humor," Mrs. Fielding explained. "I got in the habit and now all these years later I still watch it. The public television shows a lot of it, so I get my fill. It makes me laugh."

"This is funny?" Jarod asked.

"Well, it isn't everyone's cup of tea but yes, I think its pretty funny." Mrs. Fielding chuckled at a second scene similar to the first.

Jarod watched, entranced. He tried to find the humor. There had been little enough humor at The Centre, but since he'd been out his exposure to humor had given him some perspective. This wasn't anything like he'd seen before. There was a laugh track, Jarod noticed. The men were saying ridiculous things and appeared to be, Jarod thought, the ugliest women he had ever seen. 

With part of his brain, Jarod listened to the television. With another part, he thought over what he'd learned today. He had a few suspects, the most prominent of which was the Forest United leader. He planned the next steps in his investigation.

Suddenly his attention was drawn to the television. Mrs. Fielding was laughing quite loudly. A man was holding a large birdcage with a fake parrot lying in the bottom. He was explaining to a shop owner that the bird was dead. He watched intently.

Humor, he thought, was about the unexpected. It was about the absurd. It was about the incongruous. Suddenly it came to him. Suddenly the incongruity of the skit hit Jarod and he laughed. _Why_, he thought, _it actually is quite funny. Ridiculous, really_. Why hadn't he ever noticed this before? It was amazing. There wasn't anything traditionally funny but the utter unexpected absurdity of the situation brought about a reaction he had never expected. He laughed so loudly that Mrs. Fielding gave him an odd look. Jarod continued to watch the program until it ended, taking in more and more ridiculous sketches in studious silence followed by nearly hysterical laughter.

"Thank you." He said simply to Mrs. Fielding, when the program ended. Jarod left Mrs. Fielding in her parlor with a puzzled look on her face. He headed for his attic room, remembering the British humor and laughing.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The Centre

Miss Parker was upset. It wasn't an uncommon condition for the young woman, and everyone at The Centre knew it. She wasn't one to get hysterical, her rage was the kind that seethed inside her until it oozed out of every pore. Her rage appeared to be cold and icy because of the check she put on outward displays of emotion. Inside, however, her rage was hot and roiling - contained within her austere demeanor. 

Miss Parker was used to getting results and the hunt for Jarod was proving to be failure after failure. He managed to elude them every time. _What was worse_, Miss Parker thought, _he was constantly mocking them for their efforts… Mocking her_. It played hell with her nerves. She grimaced and took a swig from the antacid bottle that was practically a fixture on her desk. She stubbed out her cigarette brutally and immediately lit another with a clean, quick motion. 

Dressed in an expensive black suit with a severe cut, Miss Parker sat at her desk going over reports that did their best to illustrate her many failures in the Jarod case. _Damn! _she thought. _This pattern has got to come to an end._

A knock on the door to her office annoyed the beautiful but dangerous woman. She called out a curt command to enter, not looking up from her work. A tall man in a dark suit entered, handed her a package, and left without saying a word. _Very smart of him given my current mood_, she thought, examining the envelope curiously. Her heart began to beat faster as she realized it was from Jarod! She felt like she had received a shot of adrenalin.

Miss Parker ripped through the padded envelop quickly and tipped it's contents onto her desk. A thick paperback book fell out. On top of it there was a yellow sticky note emblazoned with Jarod's handwriting. Miss Parker immediately headed to Sydney's office with both the package and it's contents.

At the table in Sydney's office, Broots sat at his customary spot, typing away at a computer. Sydney was perusing some files at his desk. Both men looked up as Miss Parker strode through the door. She wasn't one to knock. 

High heels clicking quietly on the floor, a short skirt revealing a good deal of her legs, Miss Parker was a sight to behold. Broots, in particular, studied her as she entered, noting her perfect figure, a deep v-necked blouse and severely styled smooth dark hair.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," Miss Parker spat at Broots as she passed him, tossed the padded envelope on Syndey's desk, and sat. Broots flinched and looked quickly back to his computer screen. Sydney picked up the envelope delicately, holding it carefully. His eyes widened. Signaling Broots, Sydney set the envelope down and looked at the book. Broots, left his computer and came to stand over Sydney's shoulder. They both peered at the book and the yellow note which read,

__

I thought you could use a laugh.

Jarod

Sydney flipped through the book, noticing it was entitled, _Just The Words_. "It seems to be humorous anecdotes written in play form."

Broots, from over Sydney's shoulder looked at him in surprise. "It's Monty Python. Haven't you ever seen it? The TV show? Movies?" He looked from Sydney to Miss Parker. Both wore disdainful expressions, although Sydney looked a bit curious. Broots doubted if either one had ever watched so much as Sesame Street on television. _Maybe that was why they were both so odd_, he thought, _no exposure to actual human culture_. 

"It was a British comedy group, from the seventies I think. Funny skits… Very irreverent… Search for the Holy Grail? Life of Brian? The Parrot Sketch…" His voice faded. Broots didn't know exactly how to describe Monty Python to the serious people standing in front of them. He shrugged and grinned.

Miss Parker rolled her eyes at his goofy grin. "There's a message in here, I'm certain." She took the book from Sydney and flipped through it. "You don't think it means he's in England someplace?" 

Broots took the envelope and looked closely at the postmark. It was postmarked Los Angeles. Much of Jarod's mail was postmarked from the downtown LA post office. He had someone there routing his mail, Broots was almost certain of it. The Centre had never succeeded in finding this person or tracing Jarod through this route.

On the title page of the book in faint pencil Miss Parker noticed a word. Strangely, it said HAH and there was a numeral three like the symbol cubed. "Sydney, have a look at this."

Sydney and Broots peered at the penciled marks. It made no sense to any of the three investigators. 

"Is he laughing at us?" Miss Parker asked with a tone in her voice that would make anyone's blood run cold. "Does it mean Ha as in ha ha ha, I'm laughing my ass off at you? Bastard."

"Or is it something else?" Sydney asked in his quiet voice.

"It could be a coincidence. Maybe someone at the bookstore wrote it for some kind of inventory or something." Broots speculated.

"Nonsense. Its Jarod. I can feel it. That bastard is trying to drive me crazy." Miss Parker said coldly.

"Broots check all the databases for any references to the initials HAH. Check for file names or extensions. Code words. Whatever else you can think of. Check the Internet, too." Sydney said, obviously thinking the letters referred to an acronym or something. "Run it through the decoder as well to see if anything turns up."

Broots began his computer work, pulling any matches from The Center's numerous databases. He started a search on the Internet as well. He doubted the decoder would provide anything relevant. Not with only three letters to work with, but he ran it through anyway,

Miss Parker came to stand over his shoulder, observing his progress. Her slim figure seemed to loom over him and he became clumsy on the keyboard. _That woman just does something to me_, Broots thought, a mixture of fear, loathing, and admiration for Miss Parker coursing through his brain.


	4. Chapter 4

The weekend rolled around. Jarod had two days off work at the logging camp. He hadn't gotten much further in his investigation. His prime suspect was Damon Markham, leader of the local chapter of Forest United. Jarod had checked Forest United's web site and discovered that the local group was meeting the following evening. He planned on attending that meeting. Markham was the obvious suspect. _Almost too obvious_, he thought. _Could it be the environmentalists were being framed?_ He frowned, thinking about it. 

Earlier in the week, Jarod had purchased a small television set with a VCR in it. He'd been putting it to use after work on the rare occasions when he wasn't working on the case. Littered around the TV were video tapes and their jackets. They all bore the words "Monty Python" on them. 

Tomorrow, Jarod would investigate Forest United. Today, though, he would resume his cultural education. He thought about The Centre. He pictured Miss Parker's face when she'd gotten his package. They were all so predictable, he thought. Parker and Broots. Even Sydney. They really weren't much of a match for him. Dangerous, sure, but he was used to toying with them. Given the proper precautions, Jarod generally succeeded in playing his cat and mouse game with them most effectively. 

Jarod had hacked into The Centre's computer systems yesterday and traced the searches they had run. It was just as he'd thought. Predictable.

Jarod picked out a tape and popped it in the VCR. He sat in the wooden chair next to his bed, leaned back and watched Monty Python. Jarod didn't leave his room that day, watching tape after tape of Monty Python episodes. His laughter filled the air as he watched the Parrot sketch. He guffawed heartily at the Mattress sketch. Jarod watched and rewatched his favorite sketch of all, the Lumberjack Sketch. 

A young British man was talking about longing to be a lumberjack. At the word, lumberjack, Jarod grinned. The man was describing why he wished to change occupations from barber to lumberjack. Jarod found himself quite caught up in the man's description of the glamorous world of the lumberjack, which included leaping from tree to tree while floating down the rivers of British Columbia. The man was dressed as a lumberjack now, and there was a gleam in his eye. Suddenly he was singing.

Jarod cocked his head in interest as he listened to the song. A group of what looked like Canadian Mounties was singing in chorus, repeating the man's words. 

I'm a lumberjack and I'm OK,

I sleep all night and I work all day

Jarod laughed as the song verses got stranger and stranger. Mrs. Fielding came up to check on him because she had heard his voice through the air vent. She found him embroiled in the Lumberjack sketch. "Have you seen this one, Mrs. Fielding?"

"Yes, I think so." She looked strangely at Jarod, who was sitting on the chair a few feet from the small television. He could hardly contain his laughter.

"I think this one is my favorite," he said. "Although I really like this one as well…" Jarod ejected the Lumberjack tape and put in a different one. He pushed the 'play' button and the World's Funniest Joke Sketch came up.

"Do you know, the funniest thing about this one is that most of the German words are complete gibberish. It isn't even really a joke! Did you know that? Isn't that amazing? Oh, and the one with the mafia trying to sell protection to the army. Have you ever seen that one? I have it right here. Should I play it for you?"

"No, dear. That's quite all right. Well, I'll just leave you now." Mrs. Fielding backed out of the room slowly, a strange expression on her face.


End file.
